


Rituals: Skin

by brandedwithfire



Series: Rituals [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandedwithfire/pseuds/brandedwithfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/></p>
</div>Attention would be drawn to Nasir’s thighs; beneath calloused fingers Agron could feel every twitch and quiver of strong powerful muscle. He had to inspect, touch every inch of Nasir’s skin, every muscle, every bump and crevice to ensure that no Roman blade had slipped beneath guard and wounded perfect flesh.
            </blockquote>





	Rituals: Skin

**Author's Note:**

> As always I want to thank gaygreekgladiator for your encouragement, support and guidance <3

After battle he would study every inch of Nasir's body from head to toe. Agron would tear at leather and cloth like a man possessed desperate to reveal dark skin beneath. Nasir would argue and tug at Agron's wrists in attempt to pull him away, deep words trying to reassure his lover that all was well. But in the end he knew better than to fight with the man when he was in such a mood, there was no placating Agron until he had run hands over naked flesh.

Once the Syrian was freed from leather and straps, Agron would place both palms flat upon his chest, long fingers splayed trying to touch every muscle and bump at once. Calloused hands would roam over shoulders and up the sides of Nasir’s neck, hands cupping his strong jaw as he gently turned Nasir’s face from side to side. Deep green eyes would study; inspect every trace, every smear of blood just to ensure that it was not Nasir’s. Dirt stained thumbs would brush over perfect eyebrows in slow motion, as though Agron was trying to memorize the look and feel of them beneath his skin. Fingers would then run through Nasir’s tangled hair, soothing away knots and tangles. Each tug would normally cause any other man to wince, but Nasir was so used to such actions that he felt little anymore except the soft pull of Agron’s fingers in his hair and a calmness flooding through his body. 

Once satisfied that hair was smooth and blood upon face was not Nasir’s, Agron would move around his lover to pay attention to the olive-coloured stretch of his back. Hands would find firm shoulders momentarily kneading the tight muscles before slowly starting their journey downwards. Every bump would be memorized under finger, every line, every mark burnt into Agron’s brain so that when he studied the skin he immediately knew if anything was new or out of place. 

Hands would linger over hips sharp and strong fingers curling into bone before lowering to the firm mounds of Nasir’s ass. Cheekily, tough calloused fingers would squeeze each mound - all for the sake of inspection Agron would argue. Nasir said nothing only smirked and rolled his eyes glad that his lover could not see the additional raised brow he gave to the expression. With a playful slap satisfied that no harm had come to Nasir’s behind, Agron would pace quietly back around to face his lover ritual continuing. 

Hands would find shoulders again and from there would roam lower. Each hand paid specific attention to each of Nasir’s arms. Slowly splayed fingers would run down over muscle and flesh, Agron’s deep eyes darting from one arm to the other, as he searched for any sign of injury or wound which would cause his lover harm. 

When hands met hands Agron would entwine their fingers, locking himself and Nasir together momentarily in the silence of their tiny room. Hands would be raised and brought to thick lips and one by one Agron would pay homage to each of Nasir’s fingers. Silently he would run full lips over each digit, the softness to his actions sending a shiver down Nasir’s spine. Such gentleness and care to detail Nasir knew was unseen in Agron outside of these closed walls. This side of Agron was reserved for him and him alone. 

Finally satisfied that the callouses and scars upon Nasir’s hands were nothing more than parts of his being, Agron would be drawn to his knees. Falling before Nasir he would kneel, back straight as hands were next placed upon his lover’s taut belly. Once more palms were flat and fingers splayed as they slowly roamed upwards over flat stomach and strong chest. Agron’s hands were dirty and stained and the contrast against them compared to Nasir’s skin, even after the horrors of battle, never ceased to amaze him. Perfect olive skin stretched and firm, ready and willing for Agron’s hands to memorize every bump, every muscle, every line – and oh how he knew them well. Even with eyes closed Agron would know the feel, the curve, the heat of Nasir’s skin. 

Eyes fluttering briefly, fingers would then brush over the burned scar upon Nasir’s side and for a moment Agron paused all movement. It was a burn, a mark that branded his lover just as he had been a lifetime ago. Nasir had long ago ceased to be a slave, a man controlled by the Roman’s. Now he was a warrior, a fighter fierce in battle and deadly to behold. Sometimes Agron even pitied the Roman’s for getting on Nasir’s wrong side, for the Syrian had a temper worse than the heat of fire itself!

Moving his hands, Agron curled fingers into Nasir’s sides holding tightly as he brought his face forward. The scent of Nasir’s skin flooded his nostrils and Agron could not help but inhale deeply as green eyes finally shut. Like a butterfly upon a delicate flower Agron would brush his lips across the jagged scar, fear still lingering that such action would cause Nasir pain. Nasir could only look down and smile, lips curling upwards as he watched thick lips brush across skin that no longer held feeling. Long ago his scar had stopped causing him pain and yet Agron treated the brand as though at any moment it would tear open sending Nasir to his knees screaming in agony. Yet Nasir said nothing always allowing Agron to work through his ritual which he seemed to need as much as a dying man needed water.

Agron’s lips continued to brush across burned flesh until he was satisfied that no further damage had been done by battle and action. It was only then that he would allow himself the time to roam lips further down Nasir’s heated skin. Back down taut stomach lips would roam, only stopping from time to time to kiss and nip at the tender flesh.  
Leaning forward Agron would then dip his tongue into the crevasse of Nasir’s belly button circling around the indent as the taste of his lover’s skin flooded his mouth. Pulling back, he would bite at the flesh just below knowing it would cause Nasir to gasp loudly. Such sounds only fuelled his intentions forward. Lips would follow the fine trail of hair that lead downwards, nose brushing against dark hair as little by little Agron’s lips would pay homage to the sensitive skin and hair.

For a moment Agron would pause, face buried in the line that lead downwards between Nasir’s hip and groin. Breathing deeply the man would do nothing more than simply inhale the scent of his lover, breathing it in as though it were the only thing keeping him alive. Sometimes Nasir would feel Agron’s lips moving against the heat of his skin, mumbled words spoken in German, a language that Nasir was trying to learn. He did not know enough to understand exactly what Agron spoke but from the way his lips moved against skin Nasir could tell it was a prayer. Here in the quiet of their small room Nasir saw another side to the fierce warrior that aloud cursed the gods and their so called fates for mankind, yet here he believed in love and held so desperately onto all that was good. Gently Nasir would raise a hand and curl his fingers into Agron’s hair reassuring his lover that he was here, he was alive, and they were together. 

It was only when Nasir curled his long fingers into the short locks of his hair that Agron would finish his prayer. Mumbled words were spoken against warm skin, thanking the Gods for keeping Nasir safe and begging them to keep his heart from harm. He would rather die a thousand deaths than to ever lose Nasir and be left alone. The reassuring tug on hair would draw Agron back to his task. Lips would be pulled back from skin and hands then furthered their cause as they began to roam lower. 

Attention would next be drawn to Nasir’s thighs; beneath calloused fingers Agron could feel every twitch and quiver of strong powerful muscle. He had to inspect, touch every inch of Nasir’s skin, every muscle, every bump and crevice to ensure that no Roman blade had slipped beneath guard and wounded perfect flesh. 

Somehow, before they knew what had happened, they were together with arms and legs entangled, thick lips nipping and biting and scouring every inch of each other’s skin. Deep moans rumbled through chest and breath came ragged and desperate. Lips would come crashing together, Agron pulling at Nasir’s bottom lip, causing the other to moan loudly and sending shivers down the German’s spine. Hands in hair, tugging, pulling then grabbing at muscle and crushing hips together. It was as though both were trying to convince each other that the other was still alive, still breathing, still there in the moment. 

Afterwards, entwined together, Nasir would look up from where he rested upon Agron’s shoulder eyebrows raised and glint in his eyes and always, always Agron would shrug his shoulders and reply with an innocent grin as though he had done nothing at all. But Nasir knew, he knew this is what Agron needed like water to a dying man. He needed to go through this ritual. He needed to know that Nasir had not been harmed by the deadly edge of sword or torn by the tip of a spear. He needed to know that every part of Nasir was as he went into battle without true harm done to body. He needed to know that his heart was still there, still with, still him beating and alive. And if this is what Agron needed then who was Nasir to deny him? After all, everyone had their little rituals and this was just one of Agron’s.


End file.
